Chapter 8 #2
“I’m not perfect, Amelia,” he finally said softly. “I wish I were. But I have plenty of faults.”
She was quiet a moment, as though realizing the shift in the conversation to a more serious nature. “We all have faults.”
He had to tell her now about the mistakes he’d made, the problems he’d caused. She deserved to know all about him the same way he now knew all about her.
She also deserved to know that being married to a man like him came with risks. Although everyone in Breckenridge and Summit County liked him now, the tide could turn all too easily. One wrong move, and he could become an outcast again overnight.
She’d already been married to one outcast, and she didn’t need the risk of being married to another.
He opened his mouth to say more, but she released a noisy yawn before he could confess his sordid tale.
“You’re tired.” He straightened and wanted to palm his forehead for his insensitivity toward her.
She was with child and needed to rest more frequently as well as have proper nutrition.
But she’d been on her feet all day, and they hadn’t eaten anything since their half-touched breakfast that morning. “We should call it a day.”
“I admit, I am growing tired.” She stifled another yawn.
Before he could think through his actions, he swept her up off her feet and began to carry her.
She stiffened. “What are you doing?”
He was winding his way through the barn. “I’m guilty of allowing you to do too much today, and now I can’t let you do one more single thing, not even walk.”
She gave a huff of a laugh. “I’ll be fine, Thatcher.”
“You’ll be fine once you’re resting on the sofa.”
She wiggled, probably in an effort to make him put her down.
But now that he had her, he situated her more securely. “Just relax,” he said softly, bending close to her ear, “and let me do this. It might not help you, but it’ll help me feel better about being such an idiot for not considering your needs.”
She laughed again and settled against him, no longer fighting his hold.
As he carried her the rest of the distance, he tried not to think about how she felt in his arms—so soft and supple and sensual.
But his nerves were attuned to every pressure point of her body touching his—the way strands of hair brushed his chin, the slender stretch of her arm around his neck, the gentle curve of her body against his chest, and the firmness of her backside draped over his arm.
Her face was also close, and he could feel the warmth of her breath whenever she bantered back with him during the short walk to the cabin. When he entered, he deposited her on the sofa as he’d done the previous night.
Of course she protested, but as he lit the hearth fire, he convinced her to let him warm up an easy supper of the griddle cakes left from breakfast along with a can of pork and beans.
When the meal was ready, he brought her plate to the sofa and pulled up a chair to the fireplace for himself.
They ate and talked, and he told her more about the German immigrant family who had built the home and settled the land—how the mother had died and the father of two little children had ended up murdered and an estranged brother had come from Germany to visit, only to find the children living with a neighbor woman.
Everyone claimed the estranged brother had fallen in love at first sight with the neighbor woman.
Whether he had or not, he’d married the woman within just a couple of weeks and taken her and the children back to Germany with him.
Love at first sight. Thatcher wasn’t sure if that could really happen, but the love story of the previous residents of the cabin took on new meaning as he considered his relationship with Amelia and how long it might take for love to bloom between them.
As Thatcher relaxed with her in the low light and the cozy warmth, he found himself feeling more content than he’d been in a long time.
This was the kind of life he’d wanted, the companionship and friendship he’d been missing.
It was actually better than he could have asked for because she’d spent the day with him, joining in his work and assisting him, and he’d loved every minute of their time together.
When he left her to check on the livestock and Queen, he raced through the chores, eager to return to Amelia. Only as he stepped back through the door a while later did he remember that he still hadn’t had that conversation with her about the marriage bed. He couldn’t put it off another night.
No, he had to offer her the bed, and he would sleep up in the loft .
. . just until they both felt more comfortable with each other, whenever that might be.
But as he approached the sofa and found her in a deep sleep, he covered her securely with the blankets again, banked the fire, and turned out the lantern.
He would sleep a final night in the bedroom. By tomorrow night, he would be in the loft, and he’d make sure she had the bed. That meant he had to talk to her about the marriage bed tomorrow, no matter how awkward the conversation would be.